The Tipping Point
by lannerz
Summary: (AU) Catelyn and her husband Tywin Lannister have a fight that leads into something else entirely.


**Author's Notes:** There's no actual plot to this – just smut. That's what was asked of me.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**The Tipping Point**

The anger came out of nowhere.

Of course she felt it all the time – it coursed through the blood in her veins – it seared through her very bones – but she was able to bury it deep down inside herself for the most part. She had to do that now that she was in this pit of lions and roses. It took everything in her to keep her mouth shut at first, but she'd learned to contain herself in time. She had always been good at controlling her emotions, even when faced with tragedy. Nothing could have prepared her for the loss that she had suffered in the past few years, but it was her anger that kept her alive when her grief threatened to swallow her whole or suck her into an abyss. It was also her anger that endangered her here, so not only did she have to keep a lid on her grief, but she had to learn how to channel her anger into something positive.

It had been terribly difficult, to say the least. There had been days when she wanted to grab a passing gold cloak's dagger and stab everyone in sight, nights when she'd wanted to take the knife she was using to butter her bread to stick in her new lord husband's eye, moments when it was all she could do to not fall down on her knees and scream and cry in pain. It was not as easy as she made it out to be. Everyone was so surprised at how well she had adjusted to life in King's Landing, but the truth was that she hadn't coped well at all. It had taken a month before anyone could coax her out of her depressed state and even then, she hadn't been very lively. It was only until she'd learned to embrace her anger that she was seemingly brought back to life. Her rage animated her.

She couldn't let these monsters win. She couldn't let this war defeat her. She would fight until there was nothing left in her. And if fighting meant smiling and laughing for now, if it meant tricking all these people into thinking she was content and happy, then so be it. They would learn one day. They would all learn one day. Winter would come for them all; and she would be there to watch them fall. For now though, she would hide behind a delicate smile and polite comment; and they would never know the difference.

What was most shocking though was how she began to fall into the routine of things. She was angry at the world – and then, without any sort of warning or notice, she grew used to her life in King's Landing. She grew comfortable. She may not have liked the people or even loved anyone here, but she was at ease with them. Suddenly, the smiles she once had to force onto her face weren't forced. The intimate touches she'd tried so hard to not shy away from didn't even make her blink anymore. Her no longer empty bed was a constant; and the fact that she was constantly not alone at night proved to be some sort of a strange type of comfort. It didn't matter if her bed was being occupied by the enemy, now her husband. It just felt good to not be alone anymore, after being alone for over two years.

And so perhaps that was why, on a crisp fall night, after a day that had been just painfully right, Catelyn suddenly snapped.

"I can't do this anymore! I hate everyone in this city! I hate their smiles and compliments that are all completely fake! No one in this city is real! And I can't stand being one of them!" she shouted, picking up a glass of wine and hurling it across the room. She'd never done something like that before. Catelyn had been taught as a little girl to never yell at people or cause destruction, certainly not towards her husband. But no one ever told her what to do if her husband was the man that had orchestrated her son's death. How could she be expected to submit to him on a daily basis? Even worse, how could she be expected to not react in anger when she actually became comfortable with that man? How dare she feel these things? How dare he make her feel these things? It was too much. "I can't… I _can't_..." Her breathing became heavy and labored as she struggled to swallow air. "I can't do this anymore. I just can't."

Her husband put his hands on her forearms, as he'd done before to calm her down. Most of the time, when she got worked up, though nowhere near at this level, that always managed to help her relax. There was just something about the way he would hold her and look her directly in the eyes that forced her to shut down. She'd lean against him, if not a bit grudgingly at first, and then slowly she would calm down.

This time, however, it only served to anger her even further; and she pushed his hands off of her and backed away from him, waving an accusing finger at him. "And you, Tywin Lannister – I hate you too," she hissed. "You forced me into this…into this life that I never wanted anything to do with! If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here!"

Tywin looked at her with a quiet stillness that was unsettling. "You would be _dead_, if it were not for me."

"Then you should have let me die!" Catelyn snapped, tears welling in her blue eyes. "Maybe I would have been better off. At least then I could have been with Ned, with my children…"

Her stomach stirred the moment she mentioned her children, as if it too wanted to remind her of the child that was growing in her belly. That little bump felt like a betrayal of her children's memories. Perhaps that was why she'd suddenly snapped. It had only been two months and yet she couldn't be sure if she was throwing up because of morning sickness or because of something else.

"No," Tywin said as he walked towards her, "you would not have been better off _dead_." He placed a hand on her cheek. Her whole body ached to lean into it, but she refused. She couldn't just let him control her like this. She couldn't allow him to make her feel complacent. She wanted to fight, to resist, but even she grew tired and Tywin was so good at knowing when he had won. Moving a finger under her chin, he brought her face up to look at him, her eyes still filled with tears that would not fall. "You're better off with _me_."

Catelyn wanted to slap him as hard as she could. She wanted to scratch his eyes out. She wanted to take the hot poker by the hearth and stick him in the gut with it. She wanted to pull away from him and tell him to never touch her again.

Instead, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his, squeezing her eyes shut and kissing him as hard as she could.

Tywin seemed caught off guard by her sudden action, especially since it was so conflicting with what she'd been saying. But that was how her life was these days. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt wrong. Actions she felt like she should condemn were a source of comfort, people she was supposed to hate sometimes made her smile. It wasn't fair, but that was her life, and if it was her life, then it was his as well. At first, he didn't react, so she kissed him harder, even biting his bottom lip to the point where she tasted a bit of blood. He reacted then, gripping her arm tightly. He moved slightly, as if trying to push her away, but she just pressed her body flush against his. If she had to feel, then so did he.

For a moment, Catelyn was able to relish the fact that she was the one in control. She'd taken charge of the situation. For one brief moment, she had taken Tywin aback and put him in a spot that he had not expected. For the man that planned everything – and everything went according to plan – it felt so damn good to throw him off, if only for a minute. Because then he took the controls again. He was kissing her back, perhaps just as fiercely as she was kissing him, and his grip on her arm was so tight that she thought it might bruise her. Ned had always been careful with her, even during their most passionate nights. He'd always made sure not to hurt her. While Tywin had never been passionate or loving towards her in bed, he had certainly never been cautious or hesitant, but this night was different for both of them indeed.

There _was_ passion in this, even if the passion was anger or hate or who knew what else.

Tywin pushed her back, making her step backwards. She was too busy thinking about how he was practically biting a line down her neck to pay attention to where she was stepping. Her legs bumped into a nightstand, knocking it over and causing the books and unlit lamp to fall on the floor, spilling oil on the rug. Neither of them seemed to notice or care. She didn't even think about how her legs would be bruised. She kept her hands on him, gripping his front tightly, as if to hold herself up. It was difficult trying to undo his shirt as she walked backwards, especially with his hands on her. She'd been in the middle of changing into her nightgown when he'd walked into the room and they'd started arguing. One hand gripped her arm, but the other roamed her body, sliding over her belly and up her chest. When she stepped on a pillow that she'd thrown earlier, she slipped and nearly fell backward, letting out a little gasp, but Tywin held her up and put his free hand behind her so that he could push her against him again.

In one fluid moment that made it feel like he'd planned it all along, he managed use her near fall to slid his hand under her and pick her up. War had made her thin and nothing any of the cooks in the Red Keep made could change that; and so he lifted her as if she was nothing. When he sat her back down, it was on the table where he poured over so many notes. She could hear the paper rustling under her, but didn't bother to move them away. She didn't care about the mess; and he didn't seem to either for once.

He pressed his lips against hers again, hungrily and demanding, and slid his hand from her arm down to her wrist, so that he could pull her closer to him. With him standing in between her legs, there was little space in between them. She was still in her shift, having not fully changed clothes, and so he forced that up. She had to squirm around, lest he just ripped the material altogether, so that he could push the shift over her hips, leaving her legs and smallclothes exposed. As he slipped his tongue into her mouth, taking control yet again, he slipped a hand under her shift and squeezed one of her breasts, his thumb rolling over her nipple. It was enough to make her gasp again, which he seemed to like. She could feel him hardening against her, only the thin material of her smallclothes and his pants separating them.

Though by no means did he ever go slowly about their duties in bed, this was most certainly faster than they'd gone before. This was rushed. This was messy. This was not nice. (It was what she wanted.)

She managed to squeeze her hands in between them so she could undo his breeches. Her small hand slid in with ease so she could wrap her hand around the length of him. He immediately tensed the moment she did; and she couldn't help but grin in pride. Even though it was a strange angle, she moved her hand up and down, slow and steady, loosening and then tightening her grip at random moments. This action caused him to hesitate for the first time. She'd never done anything like it before, not with him, and it definitely gave him pause. A low groan worked its way out of him from deep within his chest. It was apparently too much for him to bear though.

Tywin abruptly slid his hand out from under her shift and then pulled her hand away from him. She was one second away from protesting when he kissed her again, if only to keep her busy and quiet. When she tried to go for him again, he used one hand to hold both of her wrists together so that she couldn't do anything but push her body against his in frustration. With his free hand, he jerked on her smallclothes; she had to move her legs down so that her undergarment slid down to her ankles. With a bit of wiggling, they fell onto the floor at his feet. He wasted no time with taking his pants completely off or his shirt; he merely pulled himself out and centered with her. Both of them were already breathing heavily. He let go of her wrists then, so that he could kneed her breasts again. She held him again, this time with both of her hands, working up and down his length.

He practically growled into the crook of her neck – and then pushed himself all the way into her in one stroke.

Catelyn couldn't help but let out a whimper. It had been a shock, one that she hadn't prepared for. It stung at first, but then he slowly pulled out and then pushed himself back in, as if sensing that he'd startled her. He kept his pace slow, but she made a disgruntled noise and scooted closer to him to let him know to quicken his pace. He seemed to take the hint instantly. Soon, he was rocking in and out of her quickly and the table rocked along with them underneath her. It sounded like it would break any second, but neither of them paid it any mind. He placed on hand on the edge of the table, gripping it hard, as he pushed into her and she pushed back. His other hand tweaked her nipple, a spot that had become more sensitive within the past two months, making her moan despite herself.

Her muscles were beginning to tighten around him – she could feel it, gods, she could feel how close she was – but it wasn't enough, wasn't fast enough. She could tell that he was getting closer to coming, but she wanted to beat him. Without missing a beat, she slid her hand down in between them again, but this time, instead of grabbing him, she began to rub herself. She hadn't done this since she was young, in her first few years with Ned, but the action seemed to spurn Tywin even further. As if at random, she came, hard and furious, matching her mood, and she leaned back against the table, her entire body tensing up. She grit her teeth together, moaning both in pleasure and anger, and her thighs squeezed him. He pushed into her harder and faster until he too came, spending himself inside of her.

For a while, they stayed like that, with her lying on the table and him leaning over her, one hand splayed on the table and the other still on her chest. He even remained inside of her, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. Her eyes were wide open and fixed on the ceiling. She gulped down a lump in her throat and pulled her hand up to swipe away hair from her sweaty forehead. It was hard to make sense of what had just happened. It had just came about without any sort of warning or hint. How had things come to this? To _that_?

Finally, Tywin pulled himself out of her and began to fix himself up. Catelyn slowly pushed herself back into the sitting position and pulled her shift down over her hips to cover herself. She was trying to fix her hair when Tywin suddenly kissed her again. "You're better off alive," he muttered against her lips, before pulling away and looking her in the eyes.

And if truth be told, Catelyn had not felt so alive in months, perhaps even years, and she didn't really know what to think of that either.


End file.
